10 stories, 100 days

So, as I stated in yesterday's blog. I am starting a writing challenge. 10 stories in 100 days. That means I have to put out a new story every ten days. YIKES. Can I do this? I don't know, but I am sure as hell gonna try! So if you are reading this, send me some encouragement, if you can't comment my blog, just e-mail me so I know you are listening and I have an audience. I would hate to find out I was performing to an empty room! Ok...empty, besides Nathalie, Sarah, Tyler and my dear mom sitting in the corner over there! (HI!) Also....send me some challenges, anything to get the juices flowing. I need a challenge. I thrive on challenge.

I just completed a GREAT creative writing class and actually made a few writer friends! Before class ended a small group of us decided to continue getting together for writing workshops about twice a month, so this challenge will make sure I have something new each time we get together. I am really excited about this, and I hope my little group actually will meet to workshop. They are a great bunch of writers and I am excited to read their work. Also, if you have any work (yes, you...hiding in the shadows) send them my way. I would love to read it and critique it. You can learn so much by both critiquing and being critiqued.

To become a better writer, you should read. I mean....come on...right? It's pretty easy to figure that out, right? So I am going to try reading "Bird by Bird" by Anne Lamont ( I started reading this for my class....but I got a little bit behind and ended up skimming through it, it seemed like a great book though) and my friend Sarah gave me "Everything you Need to Know about Creative Writing", so I will be looking at that, and William Zinsser's "On Writing" ( I have read most of this, but years ago, so I guess I will look at it again) I will also be looking into other books and brushing up on my grammar.

So I guess since it works so well with my other blog, I am going to set up my goals for the next TEN days!

1. Write a story (of course)
2. Read at least one of the above books
3. Write down some ideas for future stories
4. Look up some fun writing exercises

So...here are some writing exercises I have thought of so far. Please send me any suggestions you may have to add to this list.

1. Turn on Pandora radio, the first song that inspires me...write a story inspired by it.
2. Write a story based on an interesting secret posted on PostSecret
3. Old Ideas, I have a few old ideas worth salvaging so I may try to use them somehow

Yep, that's all I have. YIKES. I need help!

I am starting a challenge for myself. 10 short stories. 100 days. Wish me luck! But for now...I thought I would show you some of my old poetry to show you how muchmy writing has changed over teh years!
This is the cover of my old poetry book I decorated myself.

Where the Shadows Fall

Where the shadows fall
great men hide their secrets.
The truth cannot be found,
to the surface we are bound.

Where the shadows fall,
our innocence is lost.
Bloody, beaten to the ground,
laying helpless in a mound.

Where the shadows fall,
deception lies within
Unworthy kings are crowned
honesty stifled all around

Where the shadows fall
no one dares to venture.
Here stalks the bloodthirsty hound,
truth struggles to be found.

Where the shadows fall,
we search for resolution,
Lost memories and truth abound,
truth someday will soon be found.


And I just realized the rest of my old poetry is realllllly long, so I will get to those later.

A Day in My Life

I was watching Oprah and a SAHM had written in asking Oprah to give her a day off...and a guy that works for Oprah came over and took over her job for a day. This woman had three kids and it was hilarious watching the guy try to do her job, so I wrote a List poem about my day as a stay at home mom.

A Day in My Life


Wake-up.
Streeeeetch.
Enjoy the silence.
Wake-up cries,
“Da-Da, Da-da!”
Daddy’s sleeping,
Say Ma-Ma!
“Noooo, Da-Da”
Change Diaper.
Fix breakfast.
Dress baby.
Set up art project.
Watch the news.
Clean up art project.
Put in Sesame Street.
20 minute exercise DVD.
Get dressed.
Change diaper.
Prepare snack.
Get shoes on.
Go for a walk.
Play at the park.
Get the mail.
Change diaper.
Fix lunch.
Load the dishwasher.
Clean the house.
Laundry.
Change diaper.
Read picture books.
Naptime!
Yoga.
Shower.
(Connect to the world via the internet.)
Rest.
.
.
.
“Da-da,Da-da”
Say Mama!
“Noooo, Da-da!”
Lather.
Rinse.
Repeat.
Daddy’s home!
Fix dinner.
Feed the dog.
Feed the cat.
Clean up kitchen.
Bath time.
Pajama’s on.
Read, sing, read some more.
Hugs.
Kisses.
“Night-Night, Da-da”
Mama?
“Nooo”
Night-Night, little one.
Sit.
Relax.
Streeeeeeetch.
Do homework.
Sleep.


--Quinn Hay

Flash Fiction-Thaw

Thaw

A design flaw had left the playground near the lake submerged in its own miniature pond after the thaw of winter. Some designers had the bright idea of sinking the playground area below water level and surrounding it by a three foot high wall of thick concrete bricks. When the snow melted, the water had nowhere to go but to flood the swings, jungle gym and slide, rendering it useless and deserted for several weeks after the warm weather had reappeared. The playground looked like a child’s drawing of a fantastical pirate ship sailing off for yet another adventure, it’s warped and blurry double reflected upside down in the water surrounding it.
Evie stared at the swings thinking of her own childhood, so long ago and unattainable. She remembered her mom pushing her on the swings when she was a child and it seemed fitting that for the moment the swings where still and unused, stuck in a moment of silence. The arms of the merry-go-round poked through the water like the remains of a skeleton. Benches sat ominous and foreboding like tombstones.
Evie walked to the beach and stared out over the icy surface of the lake. She slipped out of her shoes and dug her toes in the cold sand. She could feel the cold numbing her bare toes and she welcomed its icy embrace. She was wearing a knee-length flowing skirt, which seemed out of place in this icy wonderland. Winter had, on a whim, decided to clock out early and left spring to take over the rest of the shift. It was a warm fifty five degrees, though the world remained encased in a shell of ice.
She could hear the thin ice near the shore hissing and tinkling as they crashed against each other, breaking into even smaller pieces. The lake was slowly awakening. It stretched and yawned, welcoming the warmth after a long hibernation. The waves lapped lazily along the shore, leaving behind a soft, lacy froth in their wake. Far off in the distance, Evie could hear the large chunks of ice slamming up against each other. Crashing and groaning in protest as they cracked into a million pieces forcing renewal and life that had remained dormant during the long winter months.
Evie walked to the water’s edge, barefoot, and stood in the frigid water. In her hand she held a stack of paper clutched protectively to her chest. She took one deep, shaky breath as a tear rolled down her cheek. She lifted a single sheet of paper from the stack and released it, floating into the icy waters. The paper floated on the surface of the water as the ink bled and washed away in the waves. Then the paper slowly sunk and disintegrated, the thin scraps washed away with the icy waves. When one piece of paper had fully disappeared she dropped another one, she did this one by one until the entire stack was gone. The lake greedily accepted the soft pink, tissue thin paper. They were letters she had written every day the past few months to her mother, letters that will never reach their recipient, forever remaining unread.
When the lake had claimed the last bit of paper, Evie hugged herself, releasing the anger, the sadness, the feeling of abandonment and whispered, “Goodbye”. She turned away from the lake and the remnants of her mourning and faced the world with renewed strength. She no longer saw the world as a frozen wonderland. She could now see the hints and promise of spring, bright, green grass peaking through the mud, reaching for warmth. Birds flying and singing in the sky, and the sun peeking its head around a gray cloud. In a rush of unexpected energy, Evie sprinted across the cold beach and splashed through the water of the playground. Her skirt clung to her legs, soaking wet from the melted snow as she ran towards the swings. She floated onto the seat and pushed. She pumped her legs furiously as the water droplets rained down on her from all around in wide arches kicked up from her toes. She smiled and feeling free of her burden she soared through the sky in a whirlwind of melted snow and ice.

6 Impossible Things

Just because I saw Alice in Wonderland today, and right now I feel kinda blah....
I am listing

6 Impossible Things


1. Fairies have the ability to bless you with youth, courage and beauty.
2. A book can tell a different story for everyone who reads it (maybe not so impossible??)
3. There is magic all around us that anyone can learn to use, if you just know how.
4. There is a tree somewhere that will give you everything you will ever need in life.
5. There is a powerful, magical species of man that can take down the world in seconds, but they choose to only use their power for good.
6. I have the ability to bring this world to life at any time. (possible only through my writing)

That is all.

Patrick rewrite

Hey everyone,
Here is my rewrite of the Patrick story. Red Shoes will be posted on the blog after this one.

The Forgettable Life of Patrick Sullivan
Quinn Hay
Some people are born to be great, their colors bright and brazen. I call them the “Remarkables”. Those people that you can’t help but notice, no matter how much you want to ignore them. Heads turn when they enter a room and you can’t help but secretly wish they knew you and would turn their head, smile and wave and make their way over to you sitting in the corner as all eyes turn and look at you with envy. These are the people who are star athletes and actors, politicians and leaders, people who have big dreams and the means to achieve them.
Then there are the “Fleas” of the world. Fleas wreak havoc in a house, you can’t help but notice their pinprick bites and they way they itch. When you see them jumping around, almost giddily, you are repulsed. The worst part? They multiply. They always multiply. Just when you think you got rid of them…BAM…another hundred pop up. “Fleas” are the people you notice, but you wish you didn’t. You know the type. Loud. Stupid. Ugly. They are stupid enough to believe that they are just the same as everyone else. Unfortunately, they don’t notice that other people stare at them in fascination, hoping they will do something unbelievably stupid so they will have something to tell their friends and family over the dinner table and laugh at. They live a life of bliss, thinking they are the center of attention, the life of the party. You know what they say, ignorance is bliss.
Then there are the people like me, The “Forgettables”. These are the people that are smart enough to realize they have no hope, no future beyond the mundane and know they can do nothing about it. They walk around in colors of grey, a smoky mist you think see out of the corner of your eye, but when you look again it has completely faded into the background. I think I would rather be anything but a “Forgettable”.
But forgettable is what I am. I am quite possibly even more invisible than most “Forgettables”, if that is possible. I once met an old fortune-teller who claimed she could see people’s auras. She would walk the streets, stopping people and telling them the color of their supposed auras and then try to convince them into paying her for a full fortune reading. She passed me over, not surprisingly, and noticed me several minutes later when she accidentally bumped into me. She twirled around, with all of her bright scarves and jewelry and grabbed my arms, a look of shock on her face.
“My, my young man,” she said in Eastern European accent I’m almost positive was fake; “I have never seen anything like this before. You have absolutely no aura, completely invisible. Let me read your fortune,”
I shrugged and shook my head no, attempting to twist out of her grasp, she only held on to me tighter. I could smell alcohol on her breath and see thick lines of makeup in the creases of her face. She breathed deeply and relaxed her grip “Alright, I will do it for free, then”
I stared at her for a moment and then rolled my eyes, relenting. She loosened her grip and pulled on my hands lifting them, palm up, to her face. She stared at them for what seemed like an eternity and then dropped them suddenly, her lips pressed into a tight line.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, not sure I really wanted to know the answer.
“It’s not good, not good at all” she shook her head stiffly and her jewelry rang like bells.
“What is it?” I asked, I didn’t want to admit it, but she had piqued my interest.
“I will say no more,” she said dramatically fluttering her hand over her heart before turning and walking briskly down the street.
I am pretty sure she was a damn “Flea”.
Then, there was Susan. Susan was also a forgettable. She had a boring job as a waitress in the little dingy café I ate breakfast at every day of the week. I would sit at the same table at the same time every morning. I would order the same breakfast: Coffee, black, wheat toast, plain, scrambled eggs, plain. She would scribble my order down, even though I am sure she had it memorized and smile slightly at me before rushing off to put in my order.
There was nothing spectacular at all about Susan. She was thin in the awkward way teenage girls are before hitting puberty, all knees and elbows. Though I am sure she was well into her 20’s, maybe even hitting her early thirties. She had thin, dull, mousey hair and pale oatmeal colored skin. If it weren’t for her eyes I would have never noticed her. They were a bright green, full of intelligence and happiness. It baffled me that she could be happy in her mundane life while I felt so bored and unfulfilled in my life, but her eyes gave me hope. And that beautiful little smile. She was forgettable, to everyone but me. I loved her with my whole being.
This is why I, Patrick Sullivan, completely unmemorable in every way, chose today to do something remarkable. Today, on a dreary, rainy Monday morning I was going to tell Susan the waitress (what was her last name?) that I loved her and have loved her since the first day I walked into this café four years ago and looked into those emerald eyes. Today was the first day of the rest of my life. Cliché, I know, but that is how I truly felt.
On the way to the café I ducked into a florist to buy some flowers for Susan. I browsed over the various flowers and colors and breathed in the thick heavy scent of roses, lilacs, and tulips. I contemplated a bouquet of bright red roses. No, roses didn’t fit Susan, they were loud and dramatic. Tulips, too bright. Finally I picked daisies. Daisies were Susan, simple and plain, yet hopeful. I purchased the flowers and the clerk wrapped them in pale pink paper. I stopped into a convenience store and bought a lottery ticket, this was my lucky day.
I entered the café, checked for Susan. She stood at the counter her back to the door. One long leg crossed delicately behind the other and she self-consciously pulled at the short hem of her dull gray uniform. I smiled and took my usual seat in the back corner.
She checked her watch then glanced back at my usual corner. She smiled, tucked a long strand of her hair back into her ponytail and made her way back to my table. I could feel my heart racing; my hands started sweating as I watched her weave through the tables.
Something was wrong; she didn’t smile as she usually did. She hung her head low and stared at her feet. She stood at my table but did not pull out her notepad from the pocket on her apron. Instead, she stared at the pink paper wrapped around the flowers.
“The usual today?” she said without emotion.
“Uh, yeah.” I was thrown off, not expecting this reaction.
She didn’t even scribble it down as usual, but walked away without looking at me or smiling. She walked back to the counter and yelled to the cook “The usual.”
A few minutes later she dropped my plate on the table unceremoniously, and slid my steaming cup of coffee next to my plate without once looking at me or flashing me that unforgettable smile. I wasn’t expecting this but I knew that I absolutely could not live without those brilliant green eyes and that smile. I dropped my napkin on my plate, grabbed the flowers and left my breakfast untouched.
I walked out of the café without looking back once. It was still raining and the pink paper was turning into a soggy mess. A man walked past me, balding with his hands shoved into his pockets. Judging by the way he walked I would say he was a Forgettable. I needed to get rid of these damn flowers; they were like a poison reminding me of my failures. I shoved the flowers into the chest of the balding man. He looked up at me, surprised and grabbed the bouquet reflexively. I let go of the flowers and continued walking, feeling free of my burden.
***
James stared down at the soggy, pink mess in his arms as the strange man walked past him. He turned to watch him storm off but when he didn’t turn back, he figured this was some kind of joke. He turned his attention once again to the soggy paper in his arms. He pulled back the paper as it turned to mush in his hands and saw a beautiful bouquet of flowers. Bright, hopeful daisies and he instantly thought of his mother. They were her favorite flowers and in the summer she always kept a fresh bouquet of daisies in a vase in the kitchen.
“It’s like having your own personal vase of sunshine,” she would say as she would bake breads and cookies.
James put his mother, suffering from Alzhiemer’s in a nursing home five years ago, but after visiting a total of four times he decided it was too hard seeing his mother slowly forget who he was and he just stopped coming. He stared at the flowers and forgot about the dreary rain falling on his head.
He hailed a cab, flowers in hand and went directly to his mother’s nursing home. He held her hand and smiled a weak smile and looked up at him with glowing eyes.
“James? Is that my James?” She asked in a weak voice.
“Yes, mom, It’s me.” James said as he placed the daisies across her lap.
“Daisies? I love daisies, they are like my own personal sunshine. Now call your sister in for lunch.” She sniffled and wiped her nose with a hanky.
James sat for hours listening to his mother’s nonsensical ramblings. He held her hand tightly; never letting go and she talked and talked. Some moments she almost seemed to see him as he was at the moment, at other times she thought he was still a child, and still at other moments she lived in a completely foreign world. She died that night as James held her hand.
James looked at the flowers in his mother’s lap. If it weren’t for that strange man who had thrown the flowers at him that morning, he would have surely missed the last day of his mother’s life. He would have missed his mother recognizing him for one last time. He owed that man everything.
***
I pulled out my cell phone and dialed the number for the local cab company. I usually walked to work but the rain was coming down hard now. I really didn’t feel like going to work after the colossal mess from the morning, but I had to make a living. I ducked under an awning of an old apartment building to attempt to stay out of the rain while I was waiting for the cab.
I tried to push Susan out of my mind, but those damn eyes were all I could think about, those eyes so bright and hopeful, that smile, so sweet and kind. I couldn’t stop thinking about her oatmeal- dull skin and the limp hair and the way she scribbled my order on her pad even though she has taken my order everyday for four years.
A loud honking brought me back to reality and I looked up to see my chariot awaiting me, a dirty yellow cab. I sighed and walked towards the cab when the door to the apartment building slammed open. A man still wearing his pajamas ran out with a hugely pregnant woman on his arm. By now I had reached the cab and opened the door, I turned to look at the couple approaching me. Every few seconds the woman stopped, her eyes would close and she would grasp her belly, her face streaked with tears and then she would breathe in deeply and exhale slowly, then continue walking a few more steps.
The man reached out and grabbed the cab door from my hands and I pulled back on the handle. He stared at me, an expression of shock dissolving into outrage. He pulled the door back from me as his wife breathed through yet another contraction getting soaked in the rain.
I was pissed. I was pissed that they had stolen my cab and now I would be late for work. I was pissed at their companionship and obvious love that I would never feel. I was pissed at the future they had together, even if they ended up hating each other, they had that child to bond them together. I hated the fact that they were of the elite “Remarkables” and thought they owned the world. They would never have to worry about being lonely. I was pissed that as the cab drove away I was left in the pouring rain in their wake.
***
Claire gently rubbed her tightening belly as she felt another strong contraction peak and fall. Her husband, Jake, ran his fingers through his hair and stared nervously out the cab window. She didn’t want to be in this smelly cab while she was in labor, she feared giving birth to their son in this dirty car and it made her nauseous. She had tried to rationalize with him, telling him that their car could get them there in just the same amount of time, but he saw the cab waiting, its door wide open and made a beeline for it.
She breathed through another contraction; they were getting closer now and more intense. They pulled up to the hospital emergency doors and Jake jumped out of the car before it had come to a full stop. He ran over to her door and yanked it open with so much force the door bounced back and closed in his face. She smiled, fighting back a laugh before being thrown once again into the pains of labor. He opened the door slower this time and when her contraction had subsided she stepped out into the pouring rain. The coolness of the rain was welcoming and she paused a moment, relishing in it.
Jake threw a twenty at the cab driver and pulled on his wife’s arm. Claire leaned into the open cab door and pulled out a business card from her purse and handed it to the driver.
“Could you go back and find that poor man who we stole this cab from and give him a ride?” She rolled her eyes and motioned to Jake who was impatiently hopping in the rain. “Some people, aren’t exactly thinking straight at the moment. Give him my card and tell him to call me, I would like to thank him personally.” She paused and breathed through another contraction. “Tell him, tell him he got us here right in time and we couldn’t have done it without him” Her eyes widened and she straightened up.
“Oh, God, Jake, it’s time. This baby is going to be born anytime!” she gasped. A nurse had appeared with a wheelchair and helped Claire sit down gently before being wheeled into the hospital.
***
I kicked at a puddle and stood in the torrential downpour. I was soaked to the bone, it didn’t matter anymore. I was pissed, no I was irate. Could this day get any fucking worse? I started angrily walking the twenty seven blocks so I could sit, rain-soaked, in my windowless cubicle making sales calls all damned day. It was barely even worth it, but I had nowhere else to go, so why not?
A car pulled up to me and I saw that it was the same cab that had deserted me on the sidewalk only ten minutes ago. I hesitated and the driver rolled down the window.
“You need a ride or what?” yelled the cabbie scratching the rough stubble across his jaw.
I walked slowly to the cab and got in.
“Hey, you look soaked.” The driver said with a half a smile.
“No shit,” I said, annoyed. He frowned then reached into his front seat. He smiled and tried to hand me a fluffy red towel.
“I keep these up here on days like these, I figured it’s better than nuthin’, right?” I rolled my eyes and pushed the towel away.
“No use to me now, is it? I mean after you left me soaking in the rain?” I snapped back.
“Where to, buddy?” the cabbie said dropping the towel unused on the seat.
“The office building on 5th Street,” I mumbled brushing the wet hair out of my eyes.
He turned onto the road and we rode the twenty seven blocks in awkward silence. He stopped in front of the office building and I stepped out into the rain. I pulled out my wallet; it was soaked and water-logged. I opened only to see the receipt from the florist and the scratch ticket I bought earlier, Lucky day, my ass. I counted the bills in my wallet and hung my head in frustration; I was a few dollars short.
“Hey, I’m sorry, I am a little short,” I mumbled.
“What?” the cabbie yelled turning to look up at me, “You get my seat soaking wet, you act like an jerk when I offer you a dry towel, and now your tellin’ me you can’t pay me?” his face reddened with anger.
“Look, I am only a few dollars short. It’s not a big deal.” I yelled back fighting the urge to punch the guy in the face.
“Maybe not for you, I got mouths to feed.”
“Look, just take my money and this scratch ticket, maybe you will get lucky. That’s all I have.” I threw the money and ticket at him and walked away as his tires screeched and he sped away. Damn Flea.
I stared at the door to my building and decided, fuck it. It’s not worth it. I started walking down the street towards the scenic park a few blocks away.
***
George could not believe the crap that guy just tried to pull. A scratch ticket? Was he serious? He pulled over a few blocks away and gathered up the loose bills and scratch ticket. He suddenly remembered the pregnant woman and her request to thank the man for helping them. Well, that man didn’t deserve gratitude anyway. He counted the money for the day and sighed. It was still relatively early but it was a slow day. He thought with the rain like it is he would have been picking up people left and right, but everyone must have decided to stay home today. He wished he would have done the same.
It was his daughter’s birthday, she was turning ten today. He was working hard just to feed them ever since his wife had died of cancer a year ago. It would be her first birthday without her mom and she was getting nothing. He could barely even afford the cake he ordered last week at his wife’s favorite bakery.
Now he sat in his cab, angry and frustrated. He slammed his hand on the steering wheel in anger. Then he looked over at the scratch ticket lying on the seat on top of his towels.
“What the heck,” he said, sighing, “might as well; my luck couldn’t get any worse.”
He scratched the ticket and then after reading the instructions twice, smiled. It wasn’t much, but he just won $100, just enough to order pizza for his daughter, maybe treat her to a movie and buy her that doll. It was all he needed. He shook his head. That man was awful, but he would have to find him and thank him. He would offer to give him a ride anywhere for free as long as he wanted.

***
I walked to the park and strolled through the trails. If anyone were out they would think I was crazy. Of course, I was the only one crazy enough to be out, but the rain was easing up. I walked to the bridge that arched over a rocky river. I stared down into the water flowing angrily over the rocks below and fantasized about jumping.
No one would realize I was gone. I had no family. I was forgettable. No one even knew I existed. Hell, they probably hadn’t even realized I hadn’t shown up to work yet. I wonder if the jump would kill me or just paralyze me. It would be horrible to be paralyzed. I wouldn’t be a forgettable anymore that was for sure, I would be a whole other class of human. The Lepers. The people you looked on with pity and disgust. Nobody really cared for Lepers; they just showered them with false optimism, when they all knew your life was pointless. It would be worse to live like that than as a Forgettable.
I stood up on the railing. I wasn’t sure I wanted to die; I just didn’t want to exist. I wanted to live. I wanted to love. The rain had slowed to a light mist and I lifted my head and held out my arms wanting more than anything to feel alive. Wanting just one person to remember, needing for once to be unforgettable.
***
Susan Roberts could not stop thinking about Patrick Sullivan. He had been in here every day for four years. She fantasized that he came in here just to see her. She used to imagine that when he ordered his breakfast, (coffee, plain, wheat toast, plain, scrambled eggs, plain); he was really saying “I love you, Susan. I want you, Susan. I need you Susan.” She always smiled back at him and said “I love you, too, Patrick” in her head.
But today, he was different. He came in smiling and glowing. He had a bouquet of flowers. It saddened her to think that he had found someone, had loved someone, and had bought flowers for someone that wasn’t her. She could barely stand to look at him, she felt so foolish. Then he had left without even touching his food.
She couldn’t shake the feeling that she missed something today. He wasn’t himself, and he just left so hastily. Something was wrong. She waited impatiently for her shift to end and as soon as her replacement showed up she was out the door.
She ran to her trusty, run-down little chevy and prayed that it would start. She knew where Patrick worked; she had seen his business card once while he was paying for his food. She also knew that he sometimes walked to the park a few blocks from his office during his lunch break. She wasn’t stalking him, she just saw him there a few times when she had been there taking pictures of the park. She wished she had her camera with her today; the best pictures were taken after the rain.
She drove around the park looking for Patrick’s brown hair, searching for somebody that was his height, his build, hoping that she would find him. She promised herself that if she found him she would tell him how she felt.
There he was. She was sure of it, standing on the bridge over the river. No, he was standing on the rail of the bridge, arms spread and head looking up to the sky.
“Oh, God,” She breathed parking the car and jumping out. She ran towards him and then stopped, afraid she would scare him and he would fall. She approached quietly and reached out her hands for him wanting to pull him down to safety.
“Patrick?” she said in a calm voice, “Patrick, don’t move. Please, don’t jump. I am right behind you. I see you…” she gasped as she saw him slip on the wet metal of the bridge rail.
***
I thought of Susan, of her fiery eyes and her shy smile. She wasn’t a forgettable. Not like me. She was beautiful and was loved, certainly. No person with a smile that illuminating could be unloved or forgettable. I couldn’t forget her, I loved her.
I swayed slightly with the wind, feeling weightless for a moment standing atop the wet bridge rail. I breathed in the fresh after-rain air and felt rejuvenated. If I still could feel that, if I could still feel love for Susan, then I could still live. I thought about her and could almost sense her looking at me, smiling at me in her gray uniform, pulling at her short skirt self-consciously as she made her way to me, her green eyes on fire. Her lips parted as she pulled out her pad of paper.
I wanted to live. I wanted to live for her. But what was the point when she didn’t see me? When I was just plain forgettable to her and the rest of the world? I grasped for something, anything that would keep me anchored to this world. Just then I heard a sweet, high voice. It was the voice of an angel, pure and true. Was I already dead? Suddenly I wanted to turn back to earth. I knew I didn’t want to die. I needed to live. The voice called to me by name and suddenly I recognized it. Susan. She was here, she loved me, and she remembered me. My heart filled with joy and I turned to see her standing a few feet away, arms stretched as if awaiting my embrace.
“Patrick? Patrick…I see you.” She said, pleadingly. Just then my foot slipped and with the wet metal I could not regain my balance. Before I knew what was happening, with a smile still on my face and my veins pulsing with life, I plummeted to the earth.

Red Shoes

Hello everyone (is anybody out there?)

I just finished my rewrite of another story. So if you are interested, here it is! If you read the first version (Sarah) I have changed a lot, so let me know what you think. I would LOVE the feedback! Also, don't be scared by the length...its only 12 pages double-spaced.

Red Shoes
Norah stepped out of her car and breathed in the warm, spring air. It was a beautiful day. The sky was a bright blue, not marred by a single wisp of cloud. She wanted nothing more to jump back in the car and drive off to the picnic and family waiting for her only a few blocks away, but she fought the urge to flee. She stared out over the rolling hills of gravestones and felt her stomach fill with lead at the thought of what she set out to do today. She was finally going to say goodbye to her father.
She began the trek to her father’s grave with head held high and an iciness flowing through her veins. Despite the warmth, she shivered and pulled her sweater tightly over her thin dress. She looked around, wondering how many other people would be actually visiting a grave on this glorious day. She spotted something so out of place in a graveyard that she had to stop and look closer. A few yards away a little girl, no more than five or six, was twirling around in a light pink tutu. Her mother, dressed in black, beckoned for her to hurry up, but the little girl kept dancing. Her strawberry blonde hair glowed in the sunlight as she danced pirouettes around the tombstones, as if oblivious of the sadness and loss surrounding her. She was an angel dancing in the city of the dead. Norah smiled, recognizing that feeling of liberation and freedom that can only come with innocence. A long time ago, Norah had the opportunity to experience this exact feeling.
When Norah was in the second grade and had nothing better to do, she explored the woods behind her house. Her mother was out getting groceries with her older sister, Lilly. Her father was supposed to be taking Norah to buy new shoes, her old ones were a size too small, but it was beginning to look like that wasn’t going to happen. He was nestled into the old, threadbare recliner in front of the television with a beer can in hand and several empty beer cans piled on the floor.
“Dad, are we gonna go get some shoes?” Norah asked quietly, almost hoping he wouldn’t hear her. He stared blankly at the television and then shook his beer can: empty.
“Get me another beer, would ya’?” he grumbled scratching his days growth of beard. Norah sniffled and wiped her nose on the back of her hand as she dutifully walked to the kitchen to play bartender. He never even took his eyes off of the television to look at her. She decided at that moment that she was going to run away.
She handed him an ice cold beer from the fridge before she left knowing that it would be awhile before he would check on her and then she packed a bag for her great adventure. All of the important stuff went into that little bag, her teddy bear, sketch book and crayons and she was convinced that was all she needed to survive. She slung the bag over her shoulder and snuck out the back door as quietly as possible. She had to pull on the door handle with all her weight but finally she heard the tiny click that meant the door was tightly closed. Then she giddily ran across the long grass in our backyard as their three dogs ran excitedly in circles around her feet.
She climbed over the low metal gate because the grass was so long from weeks of neglect that rusted gate would not open anymore. Once she was over the gate the world was at her fingertips and she enthusiastically made her way into the tangle of forest. Her mom had warned her never to go into the woods, there were tics and snakes and possibly other wild animals that were sure to bring her harm. But she wasn’t scared; she was confident she would be safe. Protected by that invisible shield that all children under a certain age believe they have. After a few minutes she came across the most wonderful fort. It was her own private sanctuary, a castle for a princess, a ship for a warrior, and she had decided it would be her new home. She climbed the wooden rails and lay out on the weather beaten wood and drew in her sketchbook for what seemed like hours to her but was really more like forty five minutes. She suddenly realized she didn’t bring any food and she missed her mom horribly, so she headed back home.
Those forty five glorious minutes ended up being the most exciting and liberating minutes of her life. She was in charge of herself and she could do anything she wanted. She could live there forever and no one would ever know! She knew what it was like to be an adult, and it was the most amazing feeling ever. When she snuck back into the house she heard her mom asking her dad where she was.
“She’s down the street at a friend’s...Jennifer, I think?” he grumbled before finishing off his beer.
“Her name is Jessica” Norah said walking into the room. It wasn’t technically lying, her name really was Jessica, not Jennifer, and she didn’t actually say she was at Jessica’s house. She wasn’t going to tell him where she really was, it was her secret and she didn’t want to share it with anyone. No one ever knew she was roaming the woods that day. It was an exhilarating feeling knowing that she was by herself and no one knew where she was. It was her first taste of freedom. She have spent her entire life trying to get that feeling back.
Norah tightened her laces on her favorite, worn, high-top red converse sneakers and pulled her wild red hair in a low ponytail. She was now twelve years old and had nearly forgotten her moment of freedom in the woods. It was excruciatingly hot today and the humidity curled her hair and it refused to be tamed. She opened her bedroom window hoping the breeze would make it less stifling. It didn’t.
She opened her shoe box and counted her money like she did every day, eighteen dollars and twenty seven cents. She just needed twenty to join the art club and get a whole set of new art supplies. She saved up enough to join last year but after giving her money to her dad, had never received anything in the mail as the advertisement promised. Once she asked her dad what happened to her money and he told her it probably got lost in the mail, she never really believed that.
She wanted more than anything to be an artist when she grew up, more specifically and illustrator for children’s books, but her parents never had the money to buy her any art supplies. So she started saving money by collecting soda cans and redeeming them for money. She would walk around her little neighborhood picking up any cans she could find, smashing it under her shoe and throw it in her little red wagon. After her dad left she snuck into his workshop in the back yard, which was usually forbidden. Inside she found mountains of beer cans everywhere; she thought she had hit the jackpot! After spending all day cleaning and smashing each can individually and taking trash bags full of cans in to be weighed she only ended up with seven dollars and thirty five cents.
Now, she tucked her eighteen dollars into the pocket of her worn jean shorts, throwing the change on her dresser and grabbed a book. She was planning on asking her mom for the remaining two dollars for the art supplies when she got home from work. Norah sat on the hard wood floor in the living room in front of the fan and opened her book. It was way too hot for anything else, but to read.
After an hour of escaping into the magical world of her book, Norah stuck the folded up Art Club advertisement in the book to mark her place and snapped it shut, wiping the sweat that was beading on her forehead with the pack of her hand. She lay back on the cool hardwood floor and listened. No longer could she hear the low hum of the air conditioner, it stopped working at the beginning of summer, no longer could she hear her mom humming in the kitchen as she baked cookies and prepared dinner. The house was just too quiet for her anymore, and she felt like the quiet was suffocating her and forcing her to think of how things used to be, and she didn’t want to be reminded of how much her life had changed.
Since her dad left, her mom had to get two jobs, which meant she was never here anymore. She worked at a Gypsum mill making drywall during the day. She would come home with dust covering everything and smelling of the chalk that Norah’s teachers used to write on the blackboard. In the evening she worked at a nursing home for the elderly, Norah silently wondered why no one would pay her to take care of her own house. Their house had fallen into disarray the past few months. Laundry was piled in the bathroom and hallway, dishes sat, stinking and spoiling, in the sink and a thick layer of dust covered almost everything. Gone were the delicious meals Norah’s mom spent all day cooking and the mouth-watering desserts that could brighten any horrible day. Now the fridge was stocked with microwaveable dinners and the cupboards full of cheap, packaged snacks.
Norah walked out of the house and headed for her favorite cherry tree in the backyard. She liked to climb the tree and read all day long, eating the sour cherries that grew in the summer. She was disappointed and angry to find that Lilly was in the back with her newest boyfriend, Tom. Lilly was laid out on a lawn chair in the tiniest blue bikini Norah had ever seen. Her mother would never let her wear that if she were home to notice. Norah desperately wanted to be like her sister. Lilly had long legs and curves. Unlike Norah, she had smooth blonde hair and not a freckle on her face. Once when Norah was younger she asked Lilly how she got rid of her freckles and Lilly snidely told her she used lemon juice. Norah scrubbed her face with lemons until her skin was bright red and sore, but the freckles didn’t budge.
Norah liked Tom, he was okay, for a guy, and he came and mowed their lawn for free. Lilly was supposed to be watching Norah while her mom was at work but most of the time she invited Tom over and spent the day draped over him kissing and hugging him. Norah thought it was a little disgusting and swore she would never do that to a boy. She didn’t think she would ever have to worry about it since she planned on never getting married. Boys were gross and ended up like her father. She never wanted to live with a man again.
Her dad used come home every day, grab a beer from the fridge and disappear into his workshop in the back yard or in front of the television and no one would see or hear from him for hours. Unless, of course, Lilly or Norah was bad, then he would yell and throw things, grab them by the hair and throw them down on the floor. He would get inches from their faces and yell so the spit would fall on their faces and they would freeze in fear. Then he would whip them with his belt and they wouldn’t be able to sit for days.
Then one day, he came home and didn’t go immediately for the fridge for a beer. He called Norah and Lilly into the living room and told them they were going shopping. They went to the mall and bought expensive gifts, anything they wanted. Norah picked out her trusty red converse sneakers. Of course, at the time, she didn’t love them like she does now. She still remembered how he never took her to buy shoes the day she ran away. So she made sure she picked ones that he would have never bought her before. She expected him to tell her to put them back and find something cheaper, something that would match the rest of her clothes, but he just smiled and hugged her and brought them to the counter to pay for them.
Then he took them out for dinner, McDonald’s and ordered cheeseburger happy meals even though they were way too old for happy meals. Over burgers and French fries, surrounded by screaming kids, he told them that their mom had asked for a divorce. They didn’t cry. He expected tears and hugs and for them to beg him to stay. They just sat there, refusing to look at him. Lilly sat at the table picking at a nail and hummed to the song playing over the speakers. Norah wanted to cry, felt like she should, but the tears didn’t come. Then he simply disappeared overnight and they haven’t seen him since, even though their mom told them he lives in an apartment only a few miles away.
Wanting to avoid the kiss-fest going on in the backyard, Norah turned and decided to sit on the front porch. She picked at a small hole in her right shoe, not feeling like reading anymore. These were the only pair of shoes she wore anymore. They were her favorites, but they were getting a little worn. The shoelaces were frayed and the fabric was tearing. The soles were smooth and there was a small hole forming under her left big toe.
Just then her mom pulled up in her rusty red car. The tires screeched as if they were in pain as she turned into the driveway. Norah jumped up and walked over to greet her, preparing herself to ask for the two dollars she still needed. She opened the car door and stood in a cloud of gypsum dust, looking as if she had just stepped out of a snow storm.
“Hey Norah, how are you doing today?” she said brushing the dust off her jeans, and kneeling over to tie a shoe.
“Mom, can I have two dollars?” Norah pleaded.
She looked down at Norah’s shoes as she stood up, taking in the holes and frayed laces, “Norah, honey, do you need new shoes?”
“No, mom, these are fine.” I said digging my toe into the dirt. “Can I have two dollars?”
“I will have to figure out how to get you some shoes before school starts.” She said walking towards the door.
“No, mom, I like these shoes, they are fine.” Norah whined, getting annoyed.
“We’ll go to Wal-Mart on my day off and get you something, okay?” She said tucking her coppery hair behind her ear.
“Mo-om, I don’t want crappy Wal-Mart shoes, I like these. I want more like these.” she snapped.
Her mom shot her a look that rivaled Medusa, “Norah, I can’t afford those shoes like your father can.” She said your father like it tasted bad. “And do not talk like that, I didn’t teach you to talk like that.” Norah stood staring at her, shocked; she wasn’t used to hearing her snap at her like that. Her mom was usually a bright ball of sunshine, always trying to sugar-coat things like her desserts.
She stormed inside as the dust from her clothes swirled around her in the wind and the screen door slammed behind her. Norah sat on the porch feeling guilty for breaking down her mother’s sunny nature. She didn’t like to disappoint her mom. It hurt more to see that look of disappointment in her eyes now than when her dad used to whip her with the belt. After a few minutes, Norah stood up and went inside, fighting back tears. Her mother had already changed her clothes and brushed most of the dust from her hair.
“Sorry, Norah, I didn’t mean to yell at you. It was just a busy day at the factory. How about we all go get frozen yogurt for a snack before I have to go to my other job?” She smiled brightly and Norah felt relieved that she didn’t completely crush her mom. “You go find Lilly and tell her Tom has to go home and then we will go, okay?”
About thirty minutes later they piled into the tiny car. Norah’s mom turned the key and the car sputtered and groaned, puffing out small clouds of smoke. She took a deep breath and tried it again. It sputtered to life and she pulled out of the driveway and headed for the new frozen yogurt shop that recently opened a few miles away.
They pulled into the parking lot and entered the shop. They were immediately overwhelmed by the unique mixture of scents. There was a clean fresh oaky smell from the handmade wooden benches and the smell of fresh paint from the bright squares of pink, yellow and green on the walls. The smells of frozen yogurt hung thickly in the air mixing with the smell of fresh waffle cones, a heavenly mixture of double Dutch chocolate, vanilla, strawberry and many more delicious flavors. Happy oldies music played through the speakers as Lilly crossed her arms in boredom and studied the menu and Norah reached out to grab her mom’s hand.
“Well, kids, what’ll it be?” mom said cheerily.
A girl about Lilly’s age stood primly behind the counter. She wore her bleach blonde hair perfectly curled and looked down at them with boredom as she tapped one perfectly filed purple fingernail on the bright pink Formica counter.
“I will have a vanilla-chocolate swirl.” Lilly said with a sigh and turned to find an empty table.
“Double Dutch chocolate,” Norah said with a smile, trying her best to make her mom forget about her earlier outburst in the hopes she could still convince her to give her two dollars.
“And I will just have vanilla.”
“Okay, that will be nine dollars even” Blondie said as she examined her nails.
“Nine dollars for frozen yogurt?” her mother laughed, “I guess the economy really does affect everything, huh?” The girl shrugged, bored.
My mom dug around in her purse and brought out a handful of crumpled bills. The girl scooped it up and smoothed each dollar bill one by one, counting out loud with each dollar.
“That’s only six dollars,” the girl said clearly getting annoyed. She continued digging around in her purse when it slipped off the counter and flipped through the air, landing upside down on the floor at her feet. The contents of her purse flew everywhere and change landed like rain on the floor, scattering out of reach. Lilly sunk low in the bench hiding her face.
Her mom dropped to her knees and hurriedly scooped up all that she could reach and started clumsily dumping it in her purse. Norah bent down to help her and was surprised to see tears running down her face. She sniffed and wiped her nose on the back of her hand. Norah fished out three crumpled dollar bills from the mess on the floor and threw them on the counter glaring at the girl behind the counter.
“It’s okay, mom. Don’t cry.” Norah whispered to her as she retrieved the last of the loose change.
“If I could just get that damn bastard to pay child support…” She mumbled under her breath then wiped her eyes, took a deep breath and stood up.
They took a seat at a table across from Lilly who was now staring, embarrassed, out the window. Her mother seemed to instinctively pick up on her need to be left alone.
The girl behind the counter brought us our cones of freshly scooped frozen yogurt and we sat quietly licking the melting, sticky sweet treats as they dripped down our hands. Norah watched as her mom closed her eyes a moment and took a deep breath, relishing in the moment of self-indulgence.
“Hey Lilly,” she said cheerily, opening her eyes, “Why don’t you come and join us?” Lilly rolled her eyes and got up and walked out of the shop where she leaned on the hood of their car and finished her cone. Her mom stared at her for several seconds with a frown and suddenly she looked much older to Norah, she no longer looked like the youthful, easy-spirited mother she knew her whole life. Her mother sighed and stood up, dumping the remainder of her cone in a nearby trash can.
“Norah, honey, keep an eye on my purse while I go to the bathroom, okay?” Norah nodded and pulled her purse closer to her as she bit off the end of the cone. She let the melted sweetness drip into my mouth and then popped the rest of the cone into her mouth, chewing slowly and savoring the last of the gooey goodness.
Norah peeked into the tangled mess of her mother’s purse. Out of curiosity, she pulled her wallet out and opened it discreetly beneath the table, looking around to make sure no one was watching her. It was empty of everything besides her mother’s driver’s license, several credit cards that had been cut in half, and a card with the smiling face of a man that had an awful poof of white hair on his head. “Olson Family Law” the card read in bold black letters, “Representing the future of your family.” Norah slipped the card back into the slot wondering what kind of miracles Mr. Olson could perform on their screwed up family. She frowned and closed the wallet, replacing it back in the purse.
She pulled out her art club money from her jeans pocket and balled up each dollar bill separately and hid each one in a different place in her purse. Norah imagined her mom searching for money one day only to find eighteen extra dollars that she hadn’t known she had. She imagined her mom smiling happily like she used to and treating herself to lunch. Norah wouldn’t tell her she put the money in there, she would just let her mom think that it had appeared their by magic.
Her mother came out of the bathroom with her face red and swollen. Mascara smudged under her eyes. She wiped at them and tucked her hair behind her ears. She smoothed her shirt and glanced at her watch.
“Well, Norah, it’s almost time for me to head back to work again.” She sighed and they began making their way to the door as Norah stared down at her old shoes. Suddenly, Norah stopped and pulled lightly on her mom’s shirt.
“Hey, mom, I have to go to the bathroom.” Norah refused to look her in the eye, afraid she would see right through her lie.
“Okay, but be quick” she smiled, waving her off.
Norah ran to the bathroom and sat down on the cool tiled floor. She wished that we had air conditioning at our house like this. It felt amazing and she thought that she would be happy to live in this bathroom for the rest of the summer. She untied the laces of her shoes and slipped them off her feet. She ran her hands across the smooth soles and stuck her finger threw the worn holes. They weren’t as bright red as they were when she bought them. She pulled tightly on the frayed laces and tied the shoes together in a neat little bundle and cradled them for a moment, like a baby, and twirled the laces around her finger. Then she hugged them tightly to her chest.
She stood up and dumped them in the trash can and walked out of the bathroom feeling a tiny bit of loss but not a bit of regret. The girl behind the counter looked up as Norah passed her and then looked down at her shoeless feet. She arched one brow and frowned and Norah crossed her arms and looked at her, daring the girl to question her. She flipped her curled hair over her shoulder and rolled her eyes before grabbing a nail file and focusing her attention on her nails. Norah turned and bounced out the door and into the car with bare feet and was thrilled to feel the rush of blood through her veins that she had only felt once before, when she was in the second grade, running wildly through the tangled forest. She was running madly towards her sanctuary, her freedom, her castle in the trees.

Readings

Hello everyone!
I am experimenting with some different layouts so tell me what you think. Since this is a reading/writing blog it makes sense that it should be easy to read, right?

Today I wanted to talk about going to Readings. I never really went to Author readings before, but my creative writing class required that we go to two and write reports on each one. So recently I have had the opportunity to go to a reading by Elissa Elliott and David Oppegaard. Both have just recently published novels. I even bought David Oppegaard's novel, Wormwood, Nevada and had him autograph it!

I think if you are interested in becoming a published writer or are just interested in the thought process behind a novel, you should go to readings. Not only do you get to see the authors and hear them talk about their novels but you get the opportunity (usually) to ask them questions of your own. Meeting these two authors I found that it made publishing a book a more tangible goal. I mean, I could actually see these authors and they were no longer just the name on the novel. They were real people! Imagine that! LOL. I asked them both what advice they would give to other aspiring authors and they both said "Read, Write....A LOT! And Persistence, persistence, persistence" Both authors had at least one or two failed attempts at publishing a novel and both wrote around 30 query letters to agents before finding one. Now, Elissa Elliot has one book published with a sequel in the makings and David Oppegaard has two published with a few more in process. It gives me hope that it is possible! I will definitely be going to more readings in the future.

So, I have been writing a novel of my own the past few months. This may never go anywhere, but I am okay with that. It's fun and if it weren't for school I would just be working on this everyday! It is a YA fantasy book because that is what I have decided is the genre I like to write.

So if you are interested...here is part of what is my favorite chapter so far. I think it is pretty self-explanatory. Give me some feedback, but remember this is only the first draft!

part of Chapter 7
from my novel-in-progress
House of Dust

**it looks like a lot but it's only about 7 pages, I made the font bigger so it was easier to read. Also, when I copied and pasted it, the formatting was a little off, so ignore that if you can!**

Butterflies flew lazily in the air and Teagan could swear she could just make out a soft sound like wind chimes. The breeze blew gently and the sun warmed her skin. Instantly, she smiled widely at this piece of perfection and threw down her bag and the book. She kicked off her leather, strappy sandals and ran to the pond, jumping into the water. It was the perfect temperature, cool but bearable. She swam slowly in the water reveling in the perfection. After awhile she floated on her back and relaxed. It was the first time she had felt completely at ease since her parents had been taken and she wanted to stay here forever. She reluctantly stepped out of the water to dry off in the warm sun.
Now she lay on the soft grass just outside the pond, relishing in the warmth of the sun. She felt different somehow, peaceful and at ease, she felt that she had come to terms with everything that happened and was ready to face her fears. She felt more powerful, and somehow, beautiful. She wondered if it was something in the water or if it was the magic of this place, but at the moment she didn’t care where it had come from. She closed her eyes and realized her skin felt somehow more alive. It was tingling pleasantly and the grass felt somehow more soft than it had felt before, the sun more comforting and the smell stronger, but more pleasant. She could clearly here wind chimes now, but now it sounded more like the mellow chimes that are made of bamboo. She felt as if all her senses were heightened somehow and she ran her fingers over the grass enjoying the richness of it all. Liam crept into her mind and she felt her pulse quicken and her cheeks warm. She imagined his sandy hair and his deep brown eyes, the curve of his mouth, the ropy muscles of his arms. She smiled wanting to lose herself in his arms, but she stretched lazily and slowly opened her eyes.
She ran her fingers through her hair and realized that it had dried already and felt somehow wavier than ever before. She sat up and looked at the dress she had put on this morning, a simple knee-length, cotton spaghetti strap dress. She stood up and spun a slow circle, feeling her dress and suddenly the fabric became softer, smoother. Her dress had suddenly transformed into a pearly satin dress, the same dress, only better. She stopped suddenly, staring at her hands.
Her breath came in shallow gasps. Had she just done that? She had been thinking that the dress seemed too simple for this beautiful place and when she had run her hands across the fabric it had miraculously transformed. I couldn’t have done that, it’s not possible. She thought as she dropped her hands and shook her head. Suddenly she heard a noise to her left and though she should have been frightened, she felt amazingly calm. She stared at the break in the bushes that opened towards the pond with curiosity and not with fear as she would have done before.
Liam strode through and stopped short, staring at Teagan with surprise.
“Teagan? What…” he stopped midsentence and stared at her. His eyes moved slowly up and down her body, over her hair and finally settled on her face. Teagan knew she should have felt embarrassment, knew she should have felt the familiar flush in her cheeks but instead she felt strong, beautiful and charming. She smiled at him watching her, not feeling self-conscious in the least. Somehow she felt empowered and more confident. She confidently walked up to him and stopped an arms length away, she had the urge to throw her arms around his neck and kiss him and she knew, somehow, by the look in his eyes he wouldn’t protest. Yet, she was feeling strangely powerful and a little spiteful.
“Teagan, you look…You look amazing.” He stammered and smiled shyly, this was unexpected to Teagan who had started to notice that Liam was a little smug and cocky.
They had been here a week and for the most part Liam seemed to be avoiding Teagan at all costs. She was hurt and confused, Liam was the first guy she had ever had feelings for and before they had arrived in Animus Gratia she was starting to think he liked her, too. But since arriving here he had begun to be cold towards her, turning his head when she looked at him and sometimes even leaving a room when she entered.
She also noticed that Liam was a little full of himself, and this was beginning to become annoying and unattractive. He constantly boasted his skills of archery and sword fighting to anyone who would listen and bragged that he had been sent on his first mission earlier than most Guardians. Though when Patrick or Penelope pointed out that he had miserably failed he had a whole list of excuses why it wasn’t his fault.
“You look…beautiful.” He said stepping forward and touching her hair lightly. She brushed his hand away and smiled.
“It must be the sun and the air of this place. It’s a beautiful place.” She shrugged.
“No, something’s different. You are different,” he looked at her, puzzled. Then he peered over her shoulder and a slow smile spread over his face. “You didn’t swim in Halcyon Pond, did you?”
Teagan felt her resolve crack and her confidence melt away. The pond? The water did this to her? Made her feel this way? Teagan struggled with the possibility that the water in the pond may hold some mysterious magic. Of course, she was stupid to swim in the water. It was foolish; she should have known that nothing is quite as normal as it seemed in this land. What if it had poisoned her, or dyed her skin bright blue? What if it had swallowed her, sucking her into its beautiful depths and burying her in a tranquil, watery grave?
“No, no of course not. I would never do that.” She said with confidence.
Liam smiled and laughed, “Really? I am not so sure about that Teagan. You’re different; you’re stronger and more confident. You are stunningly beautiful and it has nothing to do with the sun.”
Anger swept throughout her body and settled into her face where she felt her cheeks burn. He had said she was stunningly beautiful, but only because of the water she had swam in, not because she was naturally pretty. She wanted to slap him across the face for being so rude and run away to cry alone.
“Besides, the silver dust on your skin kinda gives you away.” He said pointing to her arm. She looked down at her arm and saw that her skin was covered with a fine dust of silver. She hadn’t noticed it before and realized it must have been the water that had dried on her skin. She examined her arms and hands as she felt the last bits of false confidence melt away and the familiar feeling of fear spread over her. She slumped to the ground, defeated and looked up at Liam.
“What’s going to happen to me? I didn’t know, honestly. I had no idea the pond was magic. Am I going to be okay?” She stammered quietly.
Liam laughed softly and sat on the ground beside her and patted her shoulder, “Teagan, I think you will survive.” He smiled warmly and Teagan fought the urge to swoon at his sickeningly sweet charm. “The magic will wear off over time. The Halcyon pond is a sort of pond of youth, in a way. Swimming in it or drinking it will make you feel confident, happy and peaceful. It will make you believe you can do anything. On the outside, the water clears your skin, gives you a healthy shine, brightens your eyes, whitens your teeth; it’s like an instant makeover. Though, like most magic, it wears off with time. You will be back to normal in an hour or two.”
“You mean my normal, ugly awkward self?” She huffed kicking some grass and sitting on the soft ground.
Liam laughed loudly, “Your normal, ugly, awkward self? You can’t be serious Teagan.”
Teagan picked at a piece of grass, suddenly feeling embarrassed. “I have been trying to figure out how to get you alone ever since you came here. When you weren’t with Taryn at breakfast I figured today was my chance. Though it took me all morning to figure out you were here. I should have known you would be here.” Liam said, “Why did you come here anyway?”
“I just came here to be alone. I don’t really belong here.” She said quietly, staring at the grass.
Liam looked at her and lowered his voice, “Of course you belong here. You are part of us, you know? This is your true home.”
She looked up at him, “ You have been looking for me? Why?”
He studied her a moment, “I wanted to talk to you.”
“If you wanted to talk to me you could have at any time. You have been avoiding me and you know it.” She said an edge of anger creeping into her voice. “You have no idea what is has been like for me here. I have no one to talk to. I have been thrown into a foreign land with nothing. I am used to being ignored by Taryn, we never have been close. But part of me was hoping that I would have you to talk to. Do you realize that besides Taryn, you are the one person I know the most? And honestly, I know nothing about you at all. You are an enigma. No matter how hard I try I just can’t figure you out.” She stood abruptly and walked over to the soft white sand burying her toes in the warmth.
Liam hesitated and then followed her. She stared out at the lake, “It’s frustrating. I am here in this strange place, surrounded by strange people. I don’t even know who I am anymore. My parents weren’t who I thought they were. My whole life has been a lie and I feel like I am trapped in a bad dream. I don’t belong here. I don’t understand why I am here.” She spit out as tears fell down her face.
“Have you been reading the book?” Liam said quietly.
“The book? What does the book have to do with anything? The only thing I have figured out from that book is about Noemi and Devi. What does that have to do with me?” She said angrily.
Liam looked at her knowingly, “The book has the answers you look for, if you read it. That’s why the book chose you; it has a story for you and you alone.”
“God, that’s another thing, everyone here seems to know the answers but doesn’t want to tell me. If everyone knows the answers why not make my life easier and just tell me?”
“It’s not my place to tell you.” Liam said looking out at the pond.
Teagan sunk to her knees frustrated and covered her face in her hands and sobbed. Liam stared at her a moment and then sunk down to her level.
“Look, Teagan…I can’t,” he started and then hesitated biting his lip thoughtfully “I can’t really tell you, but maybe I can help you.”
She looked up at him, “How?”
Liam pulled her hand from her face and held it palm up. He scooped up a handful of sand and poured it into her hand. Teagan watched intently, confused. He then folded her fingers closed over the sand and held her hand in both of his.
“Now, think Teagan, think of anything. Focus on that one thing.” She closed her eyes tightly.
“Are you thinking of something?” She nodded her head.
“Ok, now open your eyes.” He let go of her hand and she opened her fingers slowly. Two bright blue butterflies opened their wings in the palm of her hand and flew off into the air, the sand had disappeared.
Teagan gasped and looked at Liam “That was you, you did that. How?”
He shook his head, “No, Teagan, that was all you.”
She shook her head slowly, “No, it’s not possible. It’s just this place, it’s magical isn’t it?” She looked up to him hopefully.
“Well, you are right about this place being magic. In Animus Gratia magic just exists everywhere, like oxygen. But some people can control it more than others.”
“Like Maggie?” She asked. He raised his eyebrows.
“Yes, Maggie can control magic a little. She kinda specializes in comforts; food, clothes, a warm place to sleep…”
“And you? What do you specialize in?” she asked quizzically.
He smiled and ran a hand through his sandy hair, “Well…some say I can work my magic with the women.” He smiled and winked at her. Teagan stared back at him with wide eyes, feeling as if she had been tricked. His smile slowly faded.
“Teagan, that was a joke.” He said.
“A joke? Liam, I don’t need jokes right now. I need the truth.” She stared at him, waiting for a reply. He sighed deeply then picked up a handful of sand and closed it in his hand.
“The truth? I can barely control any magic at all. I can alter things slightly, but that’s the extent of it.” She looked at him raising one eyebrow. He held his closed hand up in front of her and opened it slowly. He had been holding sand but now tiny blue pebbles slid off his hand and piled onto the soft sand. “It isn’t very useful for the most part, I could never turn sand into a butterfly like you just did.”
Teagan looked out across the water thoughtfully. “How did you know I could do it?” she said quietly.
“Well, for one, you have a group of fairies following you.” She looked behind her and saw the tiny creatures that she had assumed were butterflies and gasped in surprise. “They are drawn to people with magical abilities.”
Teagan stood up and studied the fairies closer. “Will they hurt me?” she whispered.
Liam laughed as he stood up next to her, “Of course not, they worship you. In fact, they kind of protect you. You do not want to come across a pissed off fairy. Here, watch this…” He gently grabbed her arm and held it up, palm up.
The fairies fluttered and slowly, hesitantly flew towards her out stretched hand. A red-winged fairy stepped onto her palm and bowed. Teagan brought her hand slowly towards her face to examine the tiny creature. It had beautiful rose colored skin that glowed slightly, it wore a dress of what appeared to be woven rose buds and grass. It’s short hair floated around her head as if she were under water.
“She is beautiful.” Teagan said softly, smiling.
Liam smiled, “ Yeah, they are.”
Teagan stretched her arm out again and a green and blue winged fairy landed on her hand, both bowing deeply. Teagan smiled widely. The swarm of fairies began to fly closer and land on her arms, shoulders and hair. Before she knew it she was covered and they fluttered there bright wings, cooling her. A tiny fairy floated in the air in front of her nose. It reached out a tiny hand and touched the tip of Teagan’s nose. Then it leaned closer and kissed her. Teagan could feel the cool, wet kiss on her nose.
“The kisses of fairies have the same effects as the pond, but it lasts a little longer. They are blessing you.”
“Wow,” Teagan breathed at a loss for words.
The fairies slowly started flying away one by one until they were all gone and flying in the air above her.
“That was amazing. It was the most amazing thing that has ever happened to me.” Teagan said beaming.
Liam smiled at her and to Teagan it looked like the first genuine smile she had seem from him since arriving here, free of all smugness and self-assuredness he usually possessed.
“I just have one question; you keep saying that you can’t tell me anything or that it’s not your job to tell me. Why can’t you tell me?”
“Well, it’s in the name. We are the Guardians of Truth. That is exactly what we do. We are kind of an elite secret society. We are sworn to secrecy and cannot ever break that vow. I know it’s hard to understand to an outsider, but I hope you understand that if I could I would tell you everything. Please understand that.” He looked at her pleadingly.
She studied his face and wondered what great and terrible secrets lay behind those warm brown eyes.
“Why have you been avoiding me?”She asked in a voice barely above a whisper.
He hesitated and ran a hand through his hair. “That’s two questions; you said you only had one.” He smiled in that charming half-smile of his.
Teagan rolled her eyes, “Liam…”
“Teagan, I like you. I really do. When I talked to you in the bookstore that day, well, it was the first time I felt like I could be myself. The first time I felt I could connect with someone.” She smiled shyly at him, “But, it is forbidden. It is not advisable for me to have any kind of a relationship with you, even friendship.” Her smile faded and she looked at her feet. He stared at her waiting for a response. After several minutes she looked up at him and smiled.
She walked over to the pond and dipped a toe in the water. “So, what else can I do with this magic?”
He smiled widely at her, “You can move the world of you want to.” She playfully kicked water at him and he ducked out of the way.
“Show me.” She said holding out her hand.
He walked over to her and held her hand in his. “Remember, the first day you were here? I had you and Taryn hide in the cave? What happened right before I came back?”
Teagan bit her lip in thought, “It started raining.”
He smiled at her, “Before that?”
“The lightning? It struck the branch and caught it on fire.” Teagan said.
“And when it fell into the cave, you were scared right?”
“Of course I was. I thought we were trapped inside. I thought we would die. I remember wishing that…” realization swept over her and she looked up at Liam, “…wishing that it would rain. Did I make it rain?” she asked excitedly.
“You figured that out all on your own, I didn’t technically reveal anything to you, remember that.” He said smiling.
“I made it rain? I really made it rain? It’s impossible…” she said shakily.
“No, Teagan, not for you it isn’t.” He took both her hands in his and faced her, “And you can do it again, anytime you want.”
Teagan closed her eyes and took a deep breath. After a few seconds it began to rain softly on them. She lifted her head up to the sky and smiled gleefully. The rain was warm and gently falling on her face, it felt like a thousand tiny kisses from a thousand tiny fairies. She let go of Liam’s hands and laughed as she began dancing in the rain. Spinning happily in the falling rain that she had created.
“You did it Teagan! You made it rain, and you can do so much more. You can have anything you need.” Teagan stopped spinning suddenly and looked at Liam sadly.
“What I need more than anything right now is a friend to get me through this.”
He smiled sadly at her, “I think…” he brushed the hair out of his eyes, “ I think that I can handle that. Everyone needs a friend.”
“It’s not forbidden?” she asked.
“Ah, screw them. There is nothing wrong with friendship, right?” he smiled at her and she smiled back.
“We should be getting back, it’s almost dinner time. You know by now how Maggie is about punctuality.” Liam said walking over to her and holding out his hand for her.
Teagan picked up her bag and reached for his hand. They began finding their way through the labyrinth as the rain slowed and stopped and the sun warmed them, drying their hair.

Hello everyone!

I finished Catching Fire last night. It is the second book in The Hunger Games Series.

You should really read this series. I love it. I haven't gotten this into a book since Harry Potter! My whole body was tense with anticipation reading these books. I cried, I got angry, I really got into it. The only thing I didn't like is that the third book doesn't come out until August. I will wait...impatiently.

I read a lot of genres, but right now I am going to list my top five favorite YA Fantasy Fiction Series.

1. Harry Potter Series
2. The Hunger Games Series (I know...I haven't finished it, but I just know)
3. His Dark Materials Series
4. The Mortal Instruments Series
5. The Great and Terrible Beauty Series

Notice the Twilight series didn't make the list. Honestly, I don't think it was as good as people make it seem. I enjoyed reading them....no, I take that back. I enjoyed reading the first three. The last one made me want to gouge my eyes out (haha). I am really not into vampires or sugary-sweet love stories.

I am not going to post any writings today. I think I need to find a new blogger layout so it's easier to read, but I will post more soon.

Happy reading!

The Forgettable Life of Patrick Sullivan

Per Sarah's request, a short story I have just written. I think it might be fun if you tell me what you imagine happening after the end of the story. You will see what I mean.

The Forgettable Life of Patrick Sullivan
Quinn Hay
Some people are born to be great, their colors bright and brazen. I call them the “Remarkables”. Those people that you can’t help but notice, no matter how much you want to ignore them. Heads turn when they enter a room and you can’t help but secretly wish they knew you and would turn their head, smile and wave and make their way over to you sitting in the corner as all eyes turn and look at you with envy. These are the people who are star athletes and actors, people who have big dreams and the means to achieve them.
Then there are the “Fleas” of the world. Fleas wreak havoc in a house, you can’t help but notice their pinprick bites and they way they itch. When you see them jumping around, almost giddily, you are repulsed. And they multiply. That’s the worst part, they fucking multiply. “Fleas” are the people you notice, but you wish you didn’t. You know the type. Loud. Stupid. Ugly. They are stupid enough to believe that they are just the same as everyone else. Unfortunately, they don’t notice that other people stare at them in fascination, hoping they will do something unbelievably stupid so they will have something to tell their friends and family over the dinner table. They live a life of bliss, thinking they are the center of attention, the life of the party. You know what they say, ignorance is bliss.
Then there are the people like me, The “Forgettables”. These are the people that are smart enough to realize they have no hope, no future beyond the mundane and know they can do nothing about it. They walk around in colors of grey, a smoky mist you think see out of the corner of your eye, but when you look again it has completely faded into the background. I think I would rather be anything but a “Forgettable”.
But forgettable is what I am. I am quite possibly even more invisible than most “Forgettables”, if that is possible. I once met an old fortune-teller who claimed she could see people’s auras. She would walk the streets, stopping people and telling them the color of their supposed auras and then try to convince them into paying her for a full fortune reading. She passed me over, not surprisingly, and noticed me several minutes later when she accidentally bumped into me. She twirled around, with all of her bright scarves and jewelry and grabbed my arms, a look of shock on her face.
“My, my young man,” she said in Eastern European accent I’m almost postive was fake; “I have never seen anything like this before. You have absolutely no aura, completely invisible. Let me read your fortune,”
I shrugged and shook my head no, attempting to twist out of her grasp, she only held on to me tighter. I could smell alcohol on her breath and see thick lines of makeup in the creases of her face. She breathed deeply and relaxed her grip “Alright, I will do it for free, then”
I stared at her for a moment and then rolled my eyes, relenting. She loosened her grip and pulled on my hands lifting them, palm up, to her face. She stared at them for what seemed like an eternity and then dropped them suddenly, her lips pressed into a tight line.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, not sure I really wanted to know the answer.
“It’s not good, not good at all” she shook her head stiffly and her jewelry rang like bells.
“What is it?” I asked, I didn’t want to admit it, but she had piqued my interest.
“I will say no more,” she said dramatically fluttering her hand over her heart before turning and walking briskly down the street.
I am pretty sure she was a goddamned “Flea”.
Then, there was Susan. Susan was also a forgettable. She had a boring job as a waitress in the little dingy café I ate breakfast at every day of the week. I would sit at the same table at the same time every morning. I would order the same breakfast: Coffee, black, wheat toast, plain, scrambled eggs, plain. She would scribble my order down, even though I am sure she had it memorized and smile slightly at me before rushing off to put in my order.
There was nothing spectacular at all about Susan. She was thin in the awkward way teenage girls are before hitting puberty, all knees and elbows. Though I am sure she was well into her 20’s, maybe even hitting her early thirties. She had thin, dull, mousey hair and pale oatmeal colored skin. If it weren’t for her eyes I would have never noticed her. They were a bright green, full of intelligence and happiness. It baffled me that she could be happy in her mundane life while I felt so bored and unfulfilled in my life, but her eyes gave me hope. And that beautiful little smile. She was forgettable, to everyone but me. I loved her with my whole being.
This is why I, Patrick Sullivan, completely unmemorable in every way, chose today to do something remarkable. Today, on a dreary, rainy Monday morning I was going to tell Susan the waitress (what was her last name?) that I loved her and have loved her since the first day I walked into this café four years ago and looked into those emerald eyes. Today was the first day of the rest of my life.
On the way to the café I ducked into a florist to buy some flowers for Susan. I browsed over the various flowers and colors and breathed in the thick heavy scent of roses, lilacs, and tulips. I contemplated a bouquet of bright red roses. No, roses didn’t fit Susan, they were loud and dramatic. Tulips, too bright. Finally I picked daisies. Daisies were Susan, simple and plain, yet hopeful. I purchased the flowers and the clerk wrapped them in pale pink paper. On my way to the café I stopped in a convenience store and bought a lottery ticket, this was going to be my lucky day.
I entered the café, checked for Susan. She stood at the counter her back to the door. One long leg crossed delicately behind the other and she self-consciously pulled at the short hem of her dull gray uniform. I smiled and took my usual seat in the back corner.
She checked her watch then glanced back at my usual corner. She smiled, tucked a long strand of her hair back into her ponytail and made her way back to my table. I could feel my heart racing; my hands started sweating as I watched her weave through the tables.
Something was wrong; she didn’t smile as she usually did. She hung her head low and stared at her feet. She stood at my table but did not pull out her notepad from the pocket on her apron. Instead, she stared at the pink paper wrapped around the flowers.
“The usual today?” she said without emotion.
“Uh, yeah.” I was thrown off, not expecting this reaction.
She didn’t even scribble it down as usual, but walked away without looking at me or smiling. She walked back to the counter and yelled to the cook “The usual.”
A few minutes later she dropped my plate on the table unceremoniously, and slid my steaming cup of coffee next to my plate without once looking at me or flashing me that unforgettable smile. I wasn’t expecting this but I knew that I absolutely could not live without those brilliant green eyes and that smile. I dropped my napkin on my plate, grabbed the flowers and left my breakfast untouched.
I walked out of the café without looking back once. It was still raining and the pink paper was turning into a soggy mess. A man walked past me, balding with his hands shoved into his pockets. Judging by the way he walked I would say he was a Forgettable. I needed to get rid of these goddamned flowers; they were like a poison reminding me of my failures. I shoved the flowers into the chest of the balding man. He looked up at me, surprised and grabbed the bouquet reflexively. I let go of the flowers and continued walking, feeling free of my burden.

Snapshot #1
James Douglas stared down at the soggy, pink mess in his arms as the strange man walked past him. He turned to watch him storm off but when he didn’t turn back, he figured that this wasn’t some kinds of joke. He turned his attention once again to the soggy paper in his arms. He pulled back the paper as it turned to mush in his hands and saw a beautiful bouquet of flowers. Bright, hopeful daisies and he instantly thought of his mother. They were her favorite flowers and in the summer she always kept a fresh bouquet of daisies in a vase in the kitchen.
“It’s like having your own personal vase of sunshine,” she would say as she would bake breads and cookies.
James Douglas was a horrible son. He put his mother, suffering from Alzhiemer’s in a nursing home five years ago, but after visiting a total of four times he decided it was too hard seeing his mother slowly forget who he was and he just stopped coming. He stared at the flowers and forgot about the dreary rain falling on his head.
He hailed a cab, flowers in hand and went directly to his mother’s nursing home. He held her hand and smiled a weak smile and looked up at him with glowing eyes.
“James? Is that my James?” She asked in a weak voice.
“Yes, mom, It’s me.” James said as he placed the daisies across her lap.
“Daisies? I love daisies, they are like my own personal sunshine. Now call your sister in for lunch.” She sniffled and wiped her nose with a hanky.
James sat for hours listening to his mother’s nonsensical ramblings. He held her hand tightly; never letting go and she talked and talked. Some moments she almost seemed to see him as he was at the moment, at other times she thought he was still a child, and still at other moments she lived in a completely new world. She died that night as James held her hand.
James looked at the flowers in his mother’s lap. If it weren’t for that strange man who had thrown the flowers at him that morning, he would have surely missed the last day of his mother’s life. He would have missed his mother recognizing him for one last time. He owed that man everything.
I pulled out my cell phone and dialed the number for the local cab company. I usually walked to work but the rain was coming down hard now. I really didn’t feel like going to work after the epic fail of the morning, but I had to make a living. I ducked under an awning of an old apartment building to attempt to stay out of the rain while I was waiting for the cab.
I tried to push Susan out of my mind, but those goddamn eyes were all I could think about, those eyes so bright and hopeful, that smile, so sweet and kind. I couldn’t stop thinking about her oatmeal dull skin and the dull hair and the way she scribbled my order on her pad even though she has taken my order everyday for four years.
A loud honking brought me back to reality and I looked up to see my chariot awaiting me, a dirty yellow cab. I sighed and walked towards the cab when the door to the apartment building slammed open. A man still wearing his pajamas ran out with a hugely pregnant woman on his arm. By now I had reached the cab and opened the door, I turned to look at the couple approaching me. Every few seconds the woman stopped, her eyes would close and she would grasp her belly, her face streaked with tears and then she would breathe in deeply and exhale slowly, then continue walking a few more steps.
The man reached out and grabbed the cab door from my hands and I pulled back on the handle. He stared at me, an expression of shock dissolving into outrage. He pulled the door back from me as his wife breathed through yet another contraction getting soaked in the rain.
I was pissed. I was pissed that they had stolen my cab and now I would be late for work. I was pissed at their companionship and obvious love that I would never feel. I was pissed at the future they had together, even if they ended up hating each other, they had that child to bond them together. They would never have to worry about being lonely. I was pissed that as the cab drove away I was left in the pouring rain in their wake.
Snapshot #2
Claire Thompson gently rubbed her tightening belly as she felt another strong contraction peak and fall. Her husband, Jake, ran his fingers through her hair and stared nervously out the cab window. She didn’t want to be in this smelly cab while she was in labor, she feared giving birth to their son in this dirty car and it made her nauseous. She tried to rationalize with him, telling him that their car could get them there in just the same amount of time, but he saw the cab waiting, its door wide open and made a beeline for it.
She breathed through another contraction; they were getting closer now and more intense. They pulled up to the hospital emergency doors and Jake jumped out of the car before it had come to a full stop. He ran over to her door and yanked it open with so much force the door bounced back and closed in his face. She smiled, fighting back a laugh before being thrown once again into the pains of labor. He opened the door slower this time and when her contraction had subsided she stepped out into the pouring rain. The coolness of the rain was welcoming and she paused a moment, relishing in it.
Jake threw a twenty at the cab driver and pulled on his wife’s arm. Claire leaned into the open cab door and pulled out a business card from her purse and handed it to the driver.
“Could you go back and find that poor man who we stole this cab from and give him a ride? I’d hate to think he was standing in the rain while we stole his cab even though we have a car and my husband is a very capable driver.” She rolled her eyes and motioned to Jake who was impatiently hopping in the rain.
“Give him my card and tell him to call me, I would like to thank him personally.” She paused and breathed through another contraction. “Tell him, tell him he got us here right in time and we couldn’t have done it without him” Her eyes widened and she straightened up.
“Oh, God, Jake, it’s time. This baby is going to be born anytime!” she gasped. A nurse had appeared with a wheelchair and helped Claire sit down gently before being wheeled into the hospital.

I kicked at a puddle and stood in the torrential downpour. I was soaked to the bone, it didn’t matter anymore. I was pissed, no I was fucking irate. Could this day get any fucking worse? I started angrily walking the twenty seven blocks so I could sit, rain-soaked, in my windowless cubicle making sales calls all damned day. It was barely even worth it, but I had nowhere else to go, so why not?
A cab pulled up to me and I saw that it was the same cab that had only moments before deserted me on the sidewalk. I hesitated and the driver rolled down the window.
“You need a ride or what?” yelled the cabbie scratching the rough stubble across his jaw.
I walked slowly to the cab and got in.
“Hey, you look soaked.” The driver said with a half a smile.
“No shit,” I said annoyed. He frowned then reached into his front seat. He smiled and tried to hand me a fluffy red towel.
“I keep these up here on days like these, I figured it’s better than nuthin’, right?” I rolled my eyes and pushed the towel away.
“No use to me now, is it? I mean after you left me soaking in the rain?” I snapped back.
“Where to, buddy?” the cabbie said dropping the towel unused on the seat.
“The office building on 5th Street,” I mumbled brushing the wet hair out of my eyes.
He turned onto the road and we rode the twenty seven blocks in awkward silence. He stopped in front of the office building and I stepped out into the rain. I pulled out my wallet; it was soaked and water-logged. I opened only to see the receipt from the florist and the scratch ticket I bought earlier, Lucky day my ass. I counted the bills in my wallet and hung my head in frustration; I was a few dollars short.
“Hey, I’m sorry, I am a little short,” I mumbled.
“What?” the cabbie yelled turning to look up at me? “You get my seat soaking wet, you act like an ass when I offer you a dry towel, and now your tellin’ me you can’t pay me?” his face reddened with anger.
“Look, I am only a few dollars short. It’s not a big deal.” I yelled back fighting the urge to punch the guy in the face.
“Maybe not for you, I got mouths to feed.”
“Look, just take my money and this scratch ticket, maybe you will get lucky. That’s all I have.” I threw the money and ticket at him and walked away as his tires screeched and he sped away down the road.
I stared at the door to my building and decided, fuck it. It’s not worth it. I started walking down the street towards the scenic park a few blocks away.
Snapshot #3
George could not believe the crap that guy just tried to pull. A scratch ticket? Was he serious? He pulled over a few blocks away and gathered up the loose bills and scratch ticket. He suddenly remembered the pregnant woman and her request to thank the man for helping them. Well, that man didn’t deserve gratitude anyway. He counted the money for the day and sighed. It was still relatively early but it was a slow day. He thought with the rain like it is he would have been picking up people left and right, but everyone must have decided to stay home today.
It was his daughter’s birthday, she was turning ten today. He was working hard just to feed them ever since his wife had died of cancer a year ago. It would be her first birthday without her mom and she was getting nothing. He could barely even afford the cake he ordered last week at his wife’s favorite bakery.
If she were alive she would have budgeted and planned for months. They would have had a party for her with all her friends and ordered pizza. They would have been able to get that doll she has been asking for months. They never had much money, but she would have made it work.
Now he sat in his cab, angry and frustrated. He slammed his hand on the steering wheel in anger. Then he looked over at the scratch ticket lying on the seat on top of his towels.
“What the heck,” he said, sighing, “might as well; my luck couldn’t get any worse.”
He scratched the ticket and then after reading the instructions twice, smiled. It wasn’t much, but he just won $100, just enough to order pizza for his daughter, maybe treat her to a movie and buy her that doll. It was all he needed. He shook his head. That man was awful, but he would have to find him and thank him. He would offer to give him a ride anywhere for free as long as he wanted.

I walked to the park and strolled through the trails. If anyone were out they would think I was crazy. Of course, I was the only one crazy enough to be out, but the rain was easing up. I walked to the bridge that arched over a rocky river. I stared down into the water flowing angrily over the rocks below and fantasized about jumping.
No one would realize I was gone. I had no family. I was a forgettable. No one even knew I existed. Hell, they probably hadn’t even realized I hadn’t shown up to work yet. I wonder if the jump would kill me or just paralyze me. It would be horrible to be paralyzed. I wouldn’t be a forgettable anymore that was for sure, I would be a whole other class of human. The lepers. The people you looked on with pity and disgust. Nobody really cared for lepers; they just showered them with false optimism, when they all knew your life was pointless. It would be worse to live like that than as a forgettable.
I stood up on the railing. I wasn’t sure I wanted to die; I just didn’t want to exist. I wanted to live. I wanted to love. The rain had slowed to a light mist and I lifted my head and held out my arms wanting more than anything to feel alive. Wanting just one person to remember, needing for once to be unforgettable.
I thought of Susan, of her fiery eyes and her shy smile. She wasn’t a forgettable. Not like me. She was beautiful and was loved, certainly. No person with a smile that illuminating could be unloved or forgettable. I couldn’t forget her, I loved her.
I swayed slightly with the wind, feeling weightless for a moment standing atop the wet bridge rail. I breathed in the fresh after-rain air and felt rejuvenated. If I still could feel that, if I could still feel love for Susan, then I could still live. I thought about her and could almost sense her looking at me, smiling at me in her gray uniform, pulling at her short skirt self-consciously as she made her way across the café, her green eyes on fire. Her lips parted as she pulled out her pad of paper. She smiled that gorgeous smile and then she said,
“Patrick? Patrick…I see you.” And just then, I fall.
Snapshot #4
Susan Roberts could not stop thinking about Patrick Sullivan all day long. He had been in here every day for four years. She used to fantasize that he came in here just to see her. She used to imagine that when he ordered his breakfast, (coffee, plain, wheat toast, plain, scrambled eggs, plain); he was really saying “I love you, Susan. I want you, Susan. I need you Susan.” She always smiled back at him and said “I love you, too, Patrick” in her head.
But today, he was different. He came in smiling and glowing. He had a bouquet of flowers. It saddened her to think that he had found someone, had loved someone, and had bought flowers for someone that wasn’t her. She could barely stand to look at him, she felt so foolish. Then he had left without even touching his food.
She couldn’t shake the feeling that she missed something today. He wasn’t himself, and he just left so hastily. Something was wrong. She waited impatiently for her shift to end and as soon as her replacement showed up she was out the door.
She ran to her trusty, run-down little chevy and prayed that it would start. She knew where Patrick worked; she had seen his business card once while he was paying for his food. She also knew that he sometimes walked to the park a few blocks from his office during his lunch break. She wasn’t stalking him, she just saw him there a few times when she had been there taking pictures of the park. She wished she had her camera with her today; the best pictures were taken after the rain.
She drove around the park looking for Patrick’s brown hair, searching for somebody that was his height, his build, hoping that she would find him. She promised herself that if she found him she would tell him how she felt.
There he was. She was sure of it, standing on the bridge over the river. No, he was standing on the rail of the bridge, arms spread and head looking up to the sky.
“Oh, God,” She breathed parking the car and jumping out. She ran towards him and then stopped, afraid she would scare him and he would fall. She approached quietly and reached out her hands for him wanting to pull him down to safety.
“Patrick?” she said in a calm voice, “Patrick, don’t move. Please, don’t jump. I am right behind you. I see you…” she gasped as she saw him slip on the wet metal of the bridge rail. He fell.